Into the Nothingness

A few days ago, I stood outside looking out across the vast darkness of the Lake as the steady sleet turned to drifting snowflakes. The dog stood nearby, anxious to continue our walk. But I had to pause. There was something so calming about the night. Below me, the waves crashed to the shore and behind me the cars drove past bringing their passengers to unknown locations. Snuggled warm in my large puffy coat and over-sized mittens, I found myself standing as still as possible to blend in to my surroundings, to become a part of where I was. And then I noticed that in my attempt to be silent I had been holding my breath.

I catch myself doing this often, holding my breath as to listen deeper to that which is around me, as not to contribute to the noise of the world. But then I have to remember that I, too, am a creature. I, too, am living and existing. And like the earth, I, too, must breathe.

So I inhaled deeply, letting the cold air sting my lungs and awaken my body. And upon my exhale, my body’s release in which my muscles greatly relaxed, I saw the most beautiful thing. My breath thrust itself into the dark of the night, curling and swirling among the snowflakes, drifting for but a second with the wind, only to disintegrate into the darkness.

As I watched it, I couldn’t help but think of the beauty of it’s existence and it’s short-lived togetherness. And I wondered: What might it be like to fall out into the Nothingness of the world – where only possibility exists?


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